


Early Morning Musings

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis startles awake from a dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Morning Musings

**Author's Note:**

> There is no excuse for this, just a dumb throwaway line that I ran away with lol.

Aramis startles awake from a dream. 

For as long as Porthos and Aramis have been together, Aramis has always suffered from nightmares. It isn’t his fault, really, even if he spent a good amount of time believing it was, that he should get better, that he was pathetic for it – it’s been a long life he’s had, and even years after he and Porthos are safe and sound, out of the military, Aramis still finds difficulty sleeping. He always settles, always will, always hopes he will, when he’s in Porthos’ arms. He is sure and solid against him, and even lets Aramis rest against his shoulder during the night even at risk of his arm falling asleep. 

He does not deserve a man like Porthos. Porthos would disagree, but that’s because Porthos is perfect and wonderful. 

Usually his nightmares involve death, gunfire, mistake after mistake piling up before his very eyes. Tonight, his nightmare involved rough hands, rougher words, the bite of Porthos’ teeth against his throat, hissing out that he is worthless, that he is nothing, his words presses of unwelcoming words, cruelty and dismissal. Aramis shudders awake, still feeling the hammering of his heart, the despair of those words carving hard into his skin, more painful than any lingering scar. 

He turns his head and Porthos is snoring in his ear, cuddled up to him, warm arms wrapped around him. His face is slack, warm and gentle – if he were to shake him awake now, at four in the morning, there would be no hatred, no cruelty – there would only be sympathy, only warmer arms curling around him and holding him, whispering soft words. Porthos is too good for him.

He kisses him. After years of responding to each of Aramis’ little moments, taking any movement to mean nightmare, Porthos automatically draws Aramis in whenever he moves in the night. He mumbles something, half-awake, and nuzzles up to Aramis’ shoulder. Aramis keeps pressing soft kiss after soft kiss to his forehead and temple, the bump of his nose and the slump of his sleeping lips. His breath is a little bad this late into the night, but Aramis doesn’t even care. The drag and burn of Porthos’ beard against his cheek is always a welcomed pressure. 

“You called me a cumslut in my dream,” Aramis announces once Porthos starts kissing him back, finally awake enough to realize that Aramis isn’t suffering a night terror but is very much intending to wake Porthos up. 

Porthos grunts, blinking at him sleepily. 

“It was quite rude of you,” Aramis says. “You know I like prettier names than that.” 

“Mmmm,” Porthos hums out, sleepy, roused into complacency because Aramis isn’t sobbing or clinging, but seems downright cheerful for four in the morning despite his supposed bad sex dream. 

“Like ‘handsome’. That’s a nice thing to say.” 

“I told you,” Porthos says around a yawn, “not to watch porn so late at night.” 

“You weren’t complaining before,” Aramis whispers out and nibbles at his lip.

Porthos makes a pleased sound but stifles back a yawn. “We’re not having sex right now so don’t even bother. Go to sleep.” 

“I know,” Aramis says – despite his brave front, his hands are shaking the tiniest bit from the phantom of the dream Porthos – cruel hands pressing down against his throat until he can’t breathe. He isn’t opposed to these things, perhaps, but it was the way Porthos glared down at him, as if he were not something or someone worth knowing. Aramis might know that to be so, but Porthos would never believe it. 

“Hmhm,” Porthos sighs out, closing his eyes and cuddling up to him again. 

Aramis turns a little more fully against him, content in his arms. “Some people like that, though. Being called a slut.” 

“Hmm,” Porthos replies, sleepy. 

Aramis muses on this for a moment and then perks up. “We should make our own—”

“Go to sleep, Aramis,” Porthos mumbles. 

Aramis considers this and then sighs out, cuddling up to him and closing his eyes.


End file.
